


No Grey: Prey (Part 1)

by dreamersoftenlie1



Series: No Grey [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, dreamnotfound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:42:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29048589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamersoftenlie1/pseuds/dreamersoftenlie1
Summary: With a coveted three-part movie series now secured, eighteen-year-old Hollywood-newcomer Dream is starry-eyed, surrounded by celebrities he's only ever seen on screen all while trying to keep his feet on the ground. Armed with charming wit and aided by one very innocent manager and a childhood best friend, Dream's world is about to change in more ways than anyone could have foretold.Please read prologue or series notes for TWs.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: No Grey [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2128716
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the series prologue for story notes/explanations.

“So, when’s the first day?”

Nick is picking at the half-eaten burger on his plate, eyes darting between me and whatever is so important on his cell phone.

He knows perfectly well that today’s the big day, why is he asking me this?

“Actually, I decided to drop the role, quit acting altogether.”

This garners a snort, and he leans back into his seat with a sigh. I should know him well enough to understand the thoughts racing through his head, but even after so many years he remains a person of mystery. I know he likes it that way, and I know he knows that I can’t stand not figuring someone out within the first thirty seconds of meeting them. Maybe that’s why our friendship has lasted for so long: I have nothing to hold over him. 

“The day you quit acting is the day I fuck off to some cabin in the middle of nowhere to live off the grid.”

“Oh please don’t tempt me, I’d love to see you try.”

Our banter this afternoon is tame, and while I know that for me it’s the anticipation of the first day, I can’t tell what’s bothering him.

“Why’re you being so quiet?” I finally ask outright.

“I’m not being quiet.”

“Yes, you are.”

He’s glowering, and I shouldn’t push the topic but I do. I’m not sure if it’s coming from a place of caring or just needing to know everything, but I can tell he’s assuming it’s the latter.

A waitress saves him from answering, piling our dishes onto a tray.

“Do you know who this is?” At first I think Nick is speaking to me, expecting me to be on a name-basis with a random waitress. I don’t get around _that_ much, do I?

But no, he’s focused his attention on the waitress, his finger pointed at me. She’s our age, blonde, petite, and exactly my type, face filled with confusion from the question. Nick knows what he’s doing, but I’m not up for playing any games right now.

I start to shake my head but am interrupted by Nick before I can say anything.

“This is Clay, he’s going to be a star someday. You should get his autograph.”

This time it’s my turn to snort, and I quickly shoot the waitress a sympathetic glance. “My name is _Dream_ , actually, and please don’t listen to him. I’ll just take the check.”

Blondie skitters off without a word, clearly happy to have been dismissed.

“You’re not seriously going by _Dream_ , c’mon.”

Changing my name wasn’t a light decision, and it’s taking me as much effort to get used to it as it seems to be taking Nick.

“I’ve gotta stand out somehow,” I reply with a shrug, slipping a credit card out from my wallet and staring at my legal name imprinted on it. Who the fuck wants to go see a movie with a lead called _Clay Beckerson_? Too boring.

“Here you go, you can just pay at the front.” Blondie sets the receipt in front of me and I nod, flipping the paper around in my hands as I slip out of the booth.

Nick follows behind me as we make our way to the front of the diner, an audible clucking noise sounding from his mouth.

“What now, Nick?” I’m trying not to lose patience with him, already know where this is going.

“Should’ve left your phone number on a napkin. She was _hot_.”

“If she was so hot then why didn’t you leave your number?”

I hand my card over to the hostess who rings me up, trying to ignore Nick’s immaturity.

“Because she’s like five levels above me.” His voice is drenched in self-disdain, but I’m not falling for it. 

I’ve seen girls way more attractive trying to get his attention, whatever self-esteem issues he has are misguided. But he also knows I’m not the sort of friend to pat his head and tell him everything’s going to be alright.

I reply simply, “Maybe if you started showing a little bit more decorum.”

Nick shrugs, leading us out of the diner and into the uncomfortable heat of downtown Los Angeles. 

Decorum isn’t really my place to speak, I can be just as bad – if not _worse_ than Nick if I really tried. But it’s the first day, the First Day of what may potentially become the rest of my life.

If I said that aloud I just know Nick would be on the ground rolling in a fit of laughter. He’s never understood my dramatic antics. Tolerated them, sure, but never letting me get away with it.

“So, what exactly are you doing today…” He waves his hand, clearly uninterested in how the acting business works but trying to make an effort for me.

“It’s just a quick read-through of a couple short scenes with some of my co-stars. I’ll meet them, we’ll probably pretend we all know what other shows or movies we’ve all been in.” I lift my shoulders indifferently, trying to keep the anxiety in anticipation of the upcoming events at bay. “Nothing too crazy.”

“Cool, cool.” Nick nods gravely, as if I’ve just told him some insider secret. “Well, good luck, _Dream_ , don’t forget about us little people.” 

The sarcastic drawl of my stage name causes me to wince, but I don’t call him out on it. I can feel myself starting to sweat under the sun’s merciless heat and I’m not about to show up to my first day read-through with visible pit stains.

With a quick wave, we part ways and I head over to the nearby parking lot. My little lime green car stands out in a sea of dull metal, a couple minor dents on its bumper where the paint is peeling the only indications of its original white color beneath. The Florida license plate doesn’t help its conspicuousness, and while I really should get around to changing the registration, I’m having a hard time letting go.

I immediately blast the air conditioning the second I get in, reaching over to the passenger seat where I’ve buried my script. It’s a mass of papers with a very simple title: _The Disc Sagas: Part 1_. With an hour until I need to get across town, I figure I can read through a few more pages to waste some time.

The audition had been a long shot. I only had a couple small indie films under my belt, but it was enough to garner some important mentions in major publications. It had been Darryl’s idea since I didn’t have much to lose anyway, but I don’t think either of us had ever expected for me to land one of the lead roles. Granted, the three-part film had about seven different major characters to fill for its multiple storylines and my name would likely be billed at the bottom, but I wasn’t about to complain about that.

I lose track of time, the words running into one another as my eyes fly over the pages, and I’m only brought back to reality by the sudden buzz of my phone in my jeans pocket.

Darryl: _Have you left?_

He knows me too well. A quick glance at the time on the top of my phone screen tells me that I’m probably going to be late.

I ignore the text for now, quickly putting the car in reverse and getting out of the parking lot. The streets are filled with traffic as per usual, and I swear several times under my breath as I slam on the breaks at a red light.

I should’ve just left when I said goodbye to Nick. _Fuck_ Los Angeles and its shit drivers.

When I finally arrive I’m ten minutes late, grabbing my script and running into a building that looks like it hasn’t been updated since 1901. To my surprise and relief, I’m clearly not the only one who’s late, as a dark-haired figure rushes in behind me.

Neither of us say a word to one another at first, but by the third turn down a hallway it’s clear we’re both here for the same thing.

“You here for Disc?” I ask, trying to make polite conversation. If it’s one of my new co-stars I’m not about to make a bad first impression.

“Yeah, you?” There’s a heavy British accent present in his voice, and I curse myself for not looking up the rest of the casting, suddenly realizing that this guy might expect me to already know who he his. But his statement didn’t sound accusatory, just polite.

“Me too. I’m Dream, by the way.” 

I would stick my hand out for a shake but we’re walking too quickly. Thankfully, the stranger doesn’t seem to be offended easily.

“George, nice to meet you.”

The smile he flashes me is startling, and I’m almost taken aback by the immediate warmth that radiates off of him, as if we’re already friends after only a few shared sentences.

“Nice to meet you, too.” I respond, trying to keep my voice level.

Our conversation comes to a forced end as George opens the door to a conference room and we’re immediately enveloped into a frenzy of activity.

“George, Dream! Welcome, welcome!” One of the director’s assistants quickly ushers us to separate sides of a long conference table where the rest of the cast has already settled down. 

If anyone is concerned about our lateness, nobody is making it obvious. A couple of my seat neighbors are patting my back, introducing themselves and making small talk.

It occurs to me then that the anxiety I was expecting to overwhelm me hadn’t hit me yet. The strange string of events that just occurred never allowed me to reflect on the _then_ , but I can start to feel it creeping into my stomach like some sadistic butterfly as the activity around me settles down and I process where I am and what’s happening.

I ball my hands into fists below the table, doing my best to join in on the conversations around me. I’m extroverted, but to a point. I like being around people, meeting new friends, having the limelight, but the anxiety of new experiences is something I’ve never been able to get over.

I distract myself as best as possible, gathering the names of those around me: Dan, Tyler, Imane, JJ, Jimmy… major actors who have begun building up their own little bubble of conversation, clearly having met in some other context already, leaving me and George as the newcomers.

“This may be the only time all of us are gathered in one room,” Phil, the director, stands at the head of the conference table, immediately silencing the conversations around the room. “But I thought it would be fun for everyone to meet and hear the various storylines we’ve set out for each of you. You’ll find watered down master copies of the scripts in front of you. I just ask that you please leave the copies when we finish.”

Phil settles into his chair before flipping open his script and launching into a summarized explanation of everyone’s characters.

“George, Dream.”

My head shoots up at my name, giving a glance across the table towards George before focusing on Phil.

“Your storylines will have a lot of overlap, so I’d suggest planning some time to run lines together.”

George and I nod in unison, and I offer my new scene-mate a smile which he returns.

The rest of the read-through goes by in a blur. I begin to refer to Dan, Tyler, Imane, JJ, and Jimmy as the Famous Five collectively to myself, their acting chops clearly exceeding both mine and George’s combined.

I make note to ask George for his story. As far as I’m aware, he’s as much of a somebody as I am – still fresh, still buzzing with excitement just to be in a room with some of the industry’s top names. But if he’s nervous, he doesn’t show it. Then again, I’m fairly placid as well.

As the day comes to a close and the cast disperses, I round the table to where George is gathering his belongings and throwing on a well-worn red hoodie.

“Hey, so when do you want to get together and run lines? Who’s your manager? I can pass my guy’s number along to set something up.”

My words are rushed, on a high from the read-through.

“Sure, yeah, uh, Callahan’s my manager.”

I wait patiently, watching as George seems to be processing his thoughts. 

It’s the first time I’m actually getting to study him, his face strangely long with a mouth that looks almost too large and yet suits him perfectly. There are crinkles at the corner of his mouth as if he smiles too widely or too often, and there’s stubble beginning to grow around his lips.

“Why don’t we just swap our own numbers? I never like going through my manager, feels too formal, you know?”

He finally responds and I realize he’s looking my way now. I quickly switch my gaze to the top of his head, uncertain why I was spending so much time noting every small feature of his face.

“Sounds good.” I fumble for my phone, ignoring the dozens of concerned messages from Darryl after having ignored him earlier, swapping phones with George to exchange contact information.

“Well, it was good to _officially_ meet you.” He’s smiling at me again with the same warmth as our initial run-in, and I’m trying to understand why I don’t want to say goodbye just yet.

“Yeah, well, see you soon then?” I sound like a child, and I bite my tongue in annoyance.

“Definitely, I’ll send you a text when I get home.”

And with a wave, he’s gone, leaving me standing alone in a room full of strangers where he, too, was a stranger, and yet gave me the sense that he was anything but.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't edit this so pls don't yell, just let me know if there are any spelling errors!

The imminent text message has been all but forgotten by the time I get home, and Nick’s empty parking space by our apartment complex suggests that I’ll have time to relax alone for at least the next half hour.

It’s a cop-out from admitting that I wish he were home, to have someone to spill the afternoon’s events to other than my mother. 

I head into my bedroom, stepping over laundry scattered in the corner on the floor despite the mesh laundry basket only inches away, and let myself crash onto my unmade bed before unlocking my phoner and dialing.

“Hi honey!”

The comfort that radiates from my mother’s voice is instant, making me feel like a kid again. I’m switching off from acting professional to son, my voice going soft and almost child-like.

“Hi mom, how’s Florida?”

“Humid, peaceful, missing you. I just finished some blueberry muffins, you’d love them. But otherwise just the same as always. How’s Los Angeles? How are you? No, how was the big day?”

I smile to myself at the way she chatters on, knowing fully well where I got my talkative side from.

“Los Angeles is hot,” I pause, trying to gather my thoughts, everything already beginning to blur in my mind. “The big day was… good, exciting.” I suck in my breath, the weight of everything suddenly starting to crush me. “It was a lot, honestly. I feel like such a poser. The cast is ridiculous.”

I can hear my mother tut-tutting on the other end of the line, and I can almost picture the way she’s probably shaking her head.

“There’s a reason they cast you, just remember that Clay. Don’t be so hard on yourself, I know you can do it.”

Her reassurance is enough to keep the doubts at bay for now, but I know they’ll just resurge later. Still, I push them aside and continue the conversation on lighter topics, fill her in on the celebrities I’ll be working with and are they really as exciting off-screen as they are on?

Twenty minutes later we exchange _I love you_ s and hang up, and I find myself staring up at the ceiling with nothing else to do.

I should order some food, it’s getting late.

I should shower, the SoCal humidity still sticking to my skin relentlessly despite the air-conditioned apartment.

I should read over my script, make sure I’m ready for the next read-through.

I should do a lot of things, but instead, I close my eyes and drift to sleep.

I dream about nothing, just a black wall and the total bliss of silence. 

I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep for when I’m jolted awake by the familiar buzz of my phone. The name on the screen takes me a second to recognize.

 _George Davidson_.

Who?

Finally, it registers, and I’m sitting up in my bed so suddenly I may as well have been slapped.

George: _What’s your schedule like tomorrow?_

We need to run lines, _of course_.

But I don’t actually know what my schedule is like tomorrow.

Quickly, I pull up my text conversation with Darryl and feverishly write out a message.

Dream: _What’s my schedule like tomorrow?_

I don’t know why this feels so urgent, but it does, and when he doesn’t answer after two minutes I hit the call button.

“What?” He picks up after the fourth ring and I do my best to ignore the annoyance in his tone.

“What’s my schedule like tomorrow?”

“ _Well,_ I was just checking, give me a minute. What’s the rush?”

“You weren’t answering my goddamn text! I was worried.”

“ _Language_ , please.” He retorts, but I can only roll my eyes in response, harmless language my last concern.

I sigh irately as the second ticks by, listening to the audible clicks of his mouse scrolling through my calendar on his end.

“Alright,” Darryl finally says, “I believe you have a phone interview with Entertainment Weekly at three tomorrow afternoon, just fine-tuning the details. I’m guessing that should last about an hour. Then at seven you have dinner with Dave Blade about his upcoming project. That should be it.”

“Great, thanks.” I rush off the phone and flip back to the conversation with George.

Dream: _Anytime before 3pm would work best._

I watch as the typing bubble pops up, waiting in anticipation.

George: _Great! Let’s make it a lunch date then. Noon? There’s a place called Sightglass on Willoughby with some great pastries._

Dream: _12 at Sightglass it is. See you then!_

George: _See you :)_

I lock my phone and get out of bed, suddenly feeling motivated to run a marathon.

The decision to move to Los Angeles wasn’t taken lightly, and possibly wouldn’t have happened at all if it weren’t for Nick’s bargain to move in with me. I’ve been here for months now and yet still haven’t made any friends of my own, wrapping myself up in whatever auditions I could get a hold of. I’m unused to the isolation, and while I welcome the downtime and silence in moments such as now, I can feel myself needing to connect with people on more than a superficial level.

People like George. 

People I just have this instant feeling of ease around.

I end up showering, allowing myself to enjoy a longer time cleansing than usual, scrubbing off the polluted California air thoroughly.

The reflection that stares back at me in the bathroom mirror when I get out looks too youthful, a mass of dirty blonde hair in need of a haircut, starting to curl around the base of the ears. I’ve never had an image problem in the way that Nick has, but it’s hard to become acutely aware of every flaw on my face and body when I’m surrounded by people who look as if they’ve just jumped out of a magazine.

My shoulders are slightly too wide.

My neck is a little too narrow.

My lips could be a little bigger.

I tear my gaze away, the self-deprecation not worth my time or energy.

A door slamming in the next room catches my attention, and I quickly wrap a towel around myself as I exit the shared bathroom and enter the living area. 

“Clay!” Nick’s hands fly up to cover his eyes as if he’s been scandalized. “Cover up!”

I stare down at the towel on my waist and can’t help but burst into laughter.

“Oh come on Nick, you think I’m going to strip for you or something?”

I can see him peeking through slits in his fingers, mouth turned down into a frown.

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“I’d never for you, you’re too cheap. You probably wouldn’t even tip me a dollar.”

Nick groans and turns his back to me. “Just… put some clothes on.”

I give another laugh but oblige, making my way into my bedroom and throwing on some sweatpants and a white t-shirt.

“How was the big day?” Nick asks from where he’s settled down on the couch when I return.

“Ridiculous,” I begin, situating myself on the other end of the couch. “It was like a wax museum come to life. Dan, Tyler, Imane, JJ, and Jimmy all in one room. Then little old me. I don’t think I’ll ever feel humbler for the rest of my life.”

“No _shit_ , Imane? Imane _Anys_?” Nick’s mouth has fallen to the floor, and I’d usually poke fun at the way he’s gaping but the topic at hand is far more exciting. “Is she as hot in person?”

I should’ve known that would be his first question, not about the actual read-through or the director or the plot, but if Imane Anys was actually hot.

“Yes, hotter, even.” I’m no better, of course, the chuckle that I elicit sounding as childish as a pre-adolescent’s.

“Damn.” Nick is wide-eyed, star-struck without having even met the woman. “Clay… you _have_ to get me on that set. Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes?” I seize the bargaining opportunity, hiding the fact that I’ve already made plans to bring him behind the scenes once filming begins.

“Laundry, dishes, _hell_ , I’ll cook for you.”

I wrinkle my nose at the thought of him cooking, sure he can’t even make a grilled cheese without setting the fire alarm off.

“I only have one scene with Imane, you know, so it’ll take a lot of planning on my part.” When I say _my part_ I already know that’ll be left up to Darryl, but again, it doesn’t help the bargaining.

“Shit ok, alright.” Nick looks like he’s just had the wind knocked out of him. “How about I do your laundry _and_ dishes for a month?”

I pretend to think on it, my hand stroking my chin as if I’m deep in thought.

“Clay, _please_ , you _have to let me meet her_.”

It takes everything in me not to burst into laughter at his rushed desperation, and I’m half-surprised he’s not down on his knees begging me.

Finally, I relieve him of his misery. “Laundry and dishes for a month, _and_ you have to call me Dream.”

I know the latter will be the hardest of all the tasks, and I can see a flicker of uncertainty pass over Nick’s face -- but it’s gone as quickly as it came.

“Yes, done, deal.” He nods vigorously, and we shake on it.

The subject moves on, and I fill him in on the details he clearly has no care for but pretends to take interest in. He’s likely still thinking about the potential of meeting Imane and writing and entire script for the occasion in his head.

“Have you ever heard of George Davidson, by the way?” I ask suddenly, Nick having slumped farther down into the couch’s embrace.

“George Davidson?” He repeats, furrowing his brow as he cards through his memory. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

“Just wondering. He’s also a main in the cast and we have a bunch of scenes together apparently.” I shrug, wondering if it’s worth a Google search.

“Huh. Is he… nice?” Nick prompts, clearly unsure how to continue this particular topic.

“I don’t know. I think so, but we only met briefly. We’re running lines together tomorrow.”

We sit in silence for a while, and at first I think it’s just because we’ve run out of conversation, but when an audible snore arises from the other end of the couch I realize Nick has only fallen asleep on me.

I shake my head and let out a short chuckle, giving his shoulder a jab.

“What – what? What?” He repeats several times, eyes blinking back open. “What did you do that for?!”

“You fell asleep on me, idiot. And I’m hungry let’s go out for something to eat.”

I get up and childishly pull on his arm, trying to get him on his feet. With a groan, he pushes off the couch and gives me an obvious roll of his eyes.

“Alright, alright. What do you want?”

“Italian.” 

Nick nods, grabbing his keys and wallet. It’s an unspoken rule that when we go anywhere together, he drives. According to him I’m ‘too reckless’ behind the wheel and he ‘doesn’t feel like putting his life in my hands if he can help it’… whatever.

“Oh shit,” he pauses by the door, “didn’t we promise Alyssa we’d make an appearance at her apartment warming party later tonight?”

Now it’s my turn to curse under my breath, wondering why Darryl hadn’t reminded me when I was so sure I’d told him to add it to the schedule.

“Damnit, yeah. Well, let’s just get something quick and then head over.”

We end up scarfing down burgers at a nearby In-N-Out, and it doesn’t elude me that this is the second burger we’ve had today. 

I really do need to learn how to cook.

* * *

When Alyssa told me about her little apartment warming party the other day I had expected it to be just that: little, and a small gathering. What I hadn’t been expected was a literal _party_.

“Someone’s definitely going to call the cops on them. Did someone raid her apartment?”

We’re standing just outside the door, a loud bassline already audible. Nick’s right, it’s unusual for Alyssa to be involved in anything beyond a gathering of close friends.

“Maybe it’s a prank. Maybe she gave us the wrong address.” Nick continues, trying to find an explanation.

“We were just here the other day, not like she could’ve moved apartments so quickly.”

After several more seconds of staring at the door as if waiting for a message to appear and explain what exactly is going on, I press forward with Nick trailing several uncertain steps behind me.

The apartment is packed with the faces of people I’ve never seen before and yet feel I should know. The chatter of the party attendees somehow manages to be louder than the pumping music and I realize Nick is right, they’re going to get the cops called on them for noise disruption if they don’t stop.

“Can you see Alyssa?” I raise my voice, practically screaming into Nick’s ear.

He just shakes his head in response and so we continue through the mass of bodies.

It takes us ten minutes until we find her, pressed into the corner of the kitchen with two people I don’t recognize.

“Clay! Nick!” She shouts, tearing herself away from her company to come and greet us.

With the kitchen mildly less crowded, I don’t have to shout to be heard, “Alyssa! What the fuck is going on?”

“I invited some friends who invited some friends. They’ll be leaving soon, I think.” She shrugs, and I assume she’s unconcerned about the potential fallout.

“You’re going to get in trouble if the noise level doesn’t die down.”

“I know, I know,” her tone is getting agitated, and I realize I may have judged her wrongly. She’s more Nick’s friend than mine, and I should’ve remembered she’s far more responsible than either of us. “Just… help me get them out of here.”

Nick and I immediately spring into action, at first politely asking everyone not invited to please leave, before beginning to more forcefully usher the partygoers out the door when there’s little response.

A tap on my shoulder catches me off guard, and I turn to find Alyssa standing next to a rather gangly kid with a mop of shaggy short brown hair and sunken-looking eyes.

I leave Nick to continue taming the mob, raising my eyebrows expectantly as Alyssa launches into introductions.

“Clay! This is Karl, he just got cast in _The Disc Saga_ as well, I thought you two might want to meet.”

“Shit, no way!” My hand shoots out in greeting, and Karl takes it, looking every bit as surprised and excited as I feel. “Call me Dream, by the way.” I ignore the snort that sounds from Alyssa at the name correction.

“Yeah! Cool to meet you Dream. What storyline are you in?”

“I’m playing Nightmare.” Again, Alyssa snorts, and this time I shoot her a glare.

“No fucking way, Dream playing Nightmare?” Karl lets out a hoot of laughter and it takes everything in me not to just walk away from the conversation then and there. Thankfully, he saves himself, adding, “It’s like the role was made for you. Man, I’m so jealous. But hey, looks like we’re future scene buddies!”

I’m suddenly very happy I didn’t do something I would definitely end up regretting.

“If you’re playing Nightmare, do you know my friend George, then? He’s playing Cyril.” 

Karl’s question immediately reminds me how small Los Angeles actually is, and it nearly sends me reeling. A party at Alyssa’s new apartment was the last place I expected to learn more about this George Davidson character.

“Yeah, I just met him a few hours ago.” It amazes me that it hasn’t been days since our first introduction. “Haven’t really gotten to know him yet, though. Is he chill?”

I wince at my own question and how idiotic it sounds, but it doesn’t seem to faze Karl.

“My man is the chillest dude you’ll ever meet. Super great, just watch your back. He can get wild.”

I’m not sure what Karl defines as ‘wild’, because my version of wild is talking a mile a minute without a filter, and despite the short amount of time spent with him earlier, I have a hard time picturing George as anything like that.

“Great, it should be fun then.”

* * *

By the time the unwelcome partygoers have dispersed, him, Nick, Alyssa and I have settled onto the couches, deep in conversation.

I quickly learn that Karl has as much of a mouth on him as I do, and the rapport we strike up is immediate and easy. He’s a year older and yet acts like he’s five years younger than I am, but I welcome his refreshing humor, even if it’s borderline crass at times.

Darryl wouldn’t like him.

Speak of the devil, a glance at my phone tells me I’ve missed several texts from my manager.

Darryl: _You’re going to love this!_

I find a link to an Entertainment Weekly article proudly blaring the headline:

THE DISC SAGA: EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT THE NEXT BIG BLOCKBUSTER FRANCHISE

Inside, I find my face pasted alongside the rest of the cast, and I’m briefly annoyed by how slim they cut my headshot to the point where it looks like I’m morphing into JJ to my left and George to my right.

I don’t dwell on the cropping for long, skimming the contents to find my name:

_Dream and George are set to play Nightmare and Cyril, respectively. With the former in a fight for power and the latter his second-in-command, the two will play pivotal roles in the overarching plot as the storylines progress. Both actors are relative industry newcomers, and director Phil Watson notes that he’s looking forward to watching the two progress as artists while their own characters discover themselves._

I tap the lock button, the screen turning black, left with my own reflection staring back. I look like a deer caught in headlights.

It’s really happening. I’m no longer a side article, but part of the main headline. My stomach is buzzing with anticipation and a twinge of dread, the realization that everything is about to change hitting me like a high-speed train.

I’m going to be famous.

People will recognize _me_ \-- my name, my face, hell, even my voice.

I’ve never wanted anything more, and never been so afraid at the same time.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s not that I’m never on time so much as I’m never early, so I’m shocked to find myself ahead of schedule the next morning, even taking the midday lunch rush into account as I pull into a coveted open parking spot only a block away from my destination at 11:35.

I have twenty-five minutes to kill until I’m supposed to meet up with George. What the hell?

With a yawn, I slump down in the driver’s seat and stare at my reflection in the visor mirror. I push aside locks of hair self-consciously, trying to make it look like I hadn’t woken up only an hour before. As if George probably gives two shits how I look. 

Nick was still fast asleep when I left, having stayed at Alyssa’s long after I’d escaped in an Uber. The group was fun and if it weren’t for three major events facing me today, I likely would’ve stayed as well. 

Today isn’t just George, it’s also Entertainment Weekly and David Blade – the latter two being both relatively important for my career and yet somehow, for some unexplainable reason, this meeting with George feels just as important.

I pull my legs up to my chest, aware that any passersby would likely find it funny the way I’ve contorted my body in such a narrow space but whatever, let them stare. It’s Los Angeles, there are weirder things to see. I lean my head against the headrest, staring up at the ceiling of my car, beginning to daydream.

Then –

_BEEP – BEEP – BEEP – BEEP – BEEP_

I nearly jump out of my own skin as my car alarm screams all around me. I realize I have no idea how to turn it off, and desperately search for my car keys which I’d only just taken out of the ignition a few minutes ago.

“Fuck!” I scream to myself above the noise, clambering out of the car with as much grace as a deer trying to walk on a sheet of pure ice. 

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me!”

I find the keys on the seat, having apparently sat on them and woken a beast with my own ass.

Idiot.

I grab them and hit the panic button, leaning my head against the side of my car in defeat as the noise subsides.

“Usually when someone wants to get my attention they just yell my name.”

My head shoots up at the accented voice, mortified to find George standing a few feet away. His face is filled with amusement, clearly having witnessed the entire debacle.

I compose myself, grabbing my script and wallet and slamming the car door shut behind me as I meet him on the sidewalk.

“Just wanted to make sure you were awake, that’s all,” is the only response I can come up with.

Lame.

“Well, if that didn’t do it I’m sure some coffee will.”

The sarcasm is heavy in his voice, but then there’s something else – the self-deprecating part of me saying it’s annoyance, but then it doesn’t sound negative. Or maybe it’s just the accent throwing me off.

He turns towards the direction of the coffee shop and I follow, still trying to measure him up.

“You’re early.” I say, trying to be conversational.

“You are too,” he points out, flashing me a smile that makes me feel suddenly at ease. “Don’t worry, this isn’t usually like me. I’ve just never been here before and the parking situation had me worried.”

I smile in return, finding solace in our shared anxiety over the Los Angeles parking problems. 

“How long have you been in LA?”

“Couple weeks, it’s just temporary for filming.” George shrugs, and it’s then that I’m suddenly acutely aware of just how small he is. With narrow shoulders and skinny arms, he’s only a few inches shorter than me and yet somehow looks tiny in comparison. I try not to stare as he continues, “I got the call for the job and basically flew over right away. It’s a strange world, Los Angeles. How about you? When’d you leave Florida?”

I’m momentarily confused about how he would know I’m from Florida, but then I realize he’s seen my car’s license plate and it doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.

“Few months I guess by now. It’s pretty weird here, yeah. But it’s also full of opportunity.”

George just hums in response, as if he agrees to disagree and it makes me want to know what’s actually on his mind. He definitely doesn’t seem like the LA type, not that I’m sure there is a quintessential LA type despite what everyone thinks, but he looks more like a fish out of water than anyone I’ve seen yet.

Our conversation pauses as we head into Sightglass, an industrial-looking venue that looks like every other modern-hipster LA coffee shop, decorated with light wood panels and touches of bright colors on the floor and counters. Just a little bit airier, perhaps, than the usual.

It looks expensive, which I’m not as worried about as I used to be given my recent contract, but it stills nags at the back of my mind. George, on the other hand, seems to have no worries about spending as he orders a six-dollar latte and an assortment of pastries. 

My boring cup of black tea is ready before George’s order, so I head to an end booth and spread my script out, perusing it until he settles in opposite me.

I have to stop myself from gaping at the number of plates he’s settled around him, blurting out before I can stop myself, “What sort of ten-course meal is this?”

I quickly clamp my mouth shut, hoping I haven’t crossed some sort of line and ruined our working relationship before it’s even begun.

Thankfully, he lets out the smallest chuckle – endearing, if a little high-pitched and perhaps better described as a giggle. It’s a brief sound and yet infectious, sending me into a short fit of laughter as well.

“I’m hungry!” There’s some defensiveness in his voice but it’s quickly followed by another one of his funny giggles that seems to say he doesn’t really care. “It’s lunchtime, anyway. Why didn’t you get something?”

“I’m not hungry yet.”

“How can you look at these _delicacies_ and not be hungry?” He pushes a cinnamon roll towards me, beckoning me to take it.

I just laugh and shake my head, pushing the plate back towards him, “No, I’m really alright!”

He eyes me suspiciously as if doubting how well I know my own stomach. “At least try it for the taste. They’re supposed to be so good.” He grabs a knife, cutting the roll into two halves and offering one to me.

Another wave of laughter rolls through me, amused by how dedicated he is to this damn cinnamon roll. “Fine,” I give in, bringing it up to my mouth and taking a large bite.

I’m aware of the way he’s looking at me, and it’s hard not to break into an embarrassed grin as I try to focus on chewing. “Stop _staring_ , you’re making me self-conscious!”

“Oh, sorry, I’ll just let you eat in peace then.” He makes a grand show of staring up at the ceiling, smile still permanently plastered to his face. 

In the back of my mind, I realize I can’t stop smiling either.

I swallow and set the rest of the roll down, tapping on my chin as if deep in thought. “Alright, the verdict is that it’s good, but I’ve had better.”

My critique prompts an eye-roll from George, “You are so wrong. You’ll have to take me to these so-called ‘better’ cinnamon rolls then.”

“Guess you’ll have to come to Florida with me, then. My mother’s cinnamon rolls are next level.”

He shakes his head, shoulders shaking from quiet laughter while our cinnamon roll war subsides, and we slip into silence.

It’s not an uncomfortable peace that’s settled around us, and it strikes me how natural our easy banter felt. And there’s still a ghost of a smile playing on George’s lips as he sips on his latte that suggests he, too, might feel the same way.

* * *

More than two hours and two more cups of tea roll by as we swap lines and insert ourselves into a world very different from our own. On page, the scenes are messy: characters who don’t fully understand themselves or the powers they wield, friendships torn in two by unseeable dangers. 

It’s a stark contrast to the home we’ve built around ourselves in this little wood booth, inserting silly improvisations to catch each other off guard and force ourselves into a fit of laughter.

“I’m going to have to walk out if you do this on set,” George manages between a series of giggles after I’ve just made the same joke about the tool _hoe_ in a very different context for the tenth time in a row.

Maturity has never been my strong suit and I’m sure George is realizing that very quickly.

Then again, it doesn’t seem to be his either considering he’s done just the same with _raw meat_.

“Don’t worry, I’m not trying to get fired.” I grin, downing the last drop of my tea and trying to ignore the caffeine high I can feel causing my fingers to shake.

My phone’s screen lights up with a message from Darryl, and I know what it says without having to look at it.

I know I need to head home and get ready for the phone interview with Entertainment Weekly, know that it’s a big, massive deal to have landed it and that I should be looking forward to it. But I don’t want to leave just yet, not when this friendship feels like it’s just becoming _something_.

It’s different from Nick, yet – I can’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe I’ve just known Nick for too long, can understand him better as a kid brother than anything else. With George, it’s not the same. Then again, it’s only been two hours.

“Alright,” I sigh heavily, closing my script and giving in to my responsibilities. “I gotta get going. We should do this again, though.”

George glances up at me, curious eyes slightly hidden under strands of brown hair that have fallen out of place. “What? Lines or drowning ourselves in coffee and tea?”

I shrug, “Both, I guess. But maybe we should try tea next time, I think my heart rate has gone up a thousand percent from all the caffeine.”

A coy smile – no, a smirk – appears on George’s lips, and I’m trying to understand what it means when he says, “No, I think you’re just reacting to my charming presence, I can be very overwhelming.”

There shouldn’t be anything suggestive about it but it’s the inflection in his tone, borderline _flirty_ , and it catches me off guard.

I try not to think about it as I laugh it off and he promises to send a text later.

Still try not to think about it as we say our goodbyes and part ways.

Definitely not thinking about it as I shut the car door and focus on the road ahead.

* * *

“What drew you to acting?”

“I guess I’ve just always had a flair for the dramatic, and I’ve always liked to push myself to see what I can do. Acting allows me to do all of that.”

The Entertainment Weekly interview is just wrapping up as I hear the door to the apartment audibly slam from where I sit comfortably in my room.

Nick’s home.

And he definitely forgot I had a very important interview this afternoon.

The lady on the other end of the line doesn’t seem to notice, continuing to rattle off questions that feel very generic. I’m definitely not landing a full-page spread with this one.

“Do you have any other projects lined up after _The Disc Saga_?”

“Well, _The Disc Saga: Part Two_ and then _The Disc Saga: Part Three_.” It’s meant as a joke, but I realize a little too late that it’s likely lost in translation on a phone. Before she can move on, I quickly add, “I do have some potential projects on the horizon but they’re still in the early stages.”

“Very exciting.” She doesn’t sound excited at all. “Your director, Phil Watson, speaks very highly of you. How has it been working with him?”

“We’ll have to see if he still thinks so much of me once we actually start filming and my true colors show.” I laugh at my own joke because it’s clear she’s not going to laugh for me. “No, he’s great. Incredibly hard-working, super inspirational. I’m really looking forward to getting closer with him as everything unfolds.”

“Excellent.” There’s a pause, and I can just make out the sound of papers shuffling. “Well, that’ll be all then. Thanks so much for your time, Dream. I wish you the best of luck.”

“Thank you.” 

A succession of beeps announces the end of our conversation, and I flop down onto my bed to let myself relax for a moment.

I bring my phone up to my face, scrolling through missed notifications, looking for something, _someone_.

I don’t know why it bothers me that George hasn’t followed up yet, know that I could take the initiative and send a text instead, but I don’t, swallowing down whatever queasiness is taking over my mind.

I send a quick message to Darryl to let him know the interview finished and that I would rather not do phone interviews in the future because they suck, then pad into the living room.

I find Nick sprawled on the sofa, game controller in hand as he focuses on the television screen.

“Why the hell did you slam the door earlier?” I’m not mad, but it’s the principle of things. “I was on the phone with Entertainment Weekly.”

Nick just shrugs, not even bothering to look up. “Sorry, forgot about that. Just a long day.”

I don’t push for more, it’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it, and I honestly don’t want to hear about it.

It’s a funny contrast, me landing a big Hollywood role and him just trying to get through online school while balancing a part-time job.

It was his idea to move out with me, and while I’m grateful for it, I sometimes wonder if he has regrets. I know he did it because he was worried we might grow apart, that Los Angeles would turn me into someone else – I’m aware of his insecurities almost as much as my own. But I wonder too often if this was really the right decision, moving away from his hometown and family when he’s still so young.

I never dwell on it for long. Truthfully, and selfishly, I couldn’t imagine being in this city alone.

“What are you doing for dinner tonight?” He asks, eyes still glued to his game.

“I have a dinner meeting with this director,” I reply absently, wandering into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water.

“Oh? Who?” Nick asks once I’ve returned.

“Dave Blade.” Whose name sounds as fake as my own. “Some new movie he’s been working on, _Territory_ or something.”

“Nice, nice.”

Despite Nick’s apparent disinterest, the meeting is a Very. Big. Deal. Which, if Nick paid any mind to my movie ramblings, he would know.

One of Hollywood’s biggest breakout directors, an unmatched visionary and he asked _me_ to a dinner meeting about his upcoming film.

What the fuck.

And then there’s Nick. Nick, who is clueless – no, clueless isn’t the right word, but it’s all that comes to mind. 

His naivety garners a chuckle from me, prompting him to shoot me a curious glance.

“What?”

“Nothing. Hey,” I change the subject, not wanting to get into a fight over his lack of movie knowledge, “That guy George, my new co-worker if you will, he’s kind of ok. I feel like we should all hang out sometime.”

“Yeah?” His attention turns back to the screen. “Just tell me when.”

It’s clear that I’m losing to Nick’s video game, so I give up on the conversation altogether and trudge back into my bedroom.

My phone pings from the bed where I left it, and I grab it quickly – hopeful, strangely.

It’s just Darryl, reminding me about the dinner meeting.

Yeah, yeah, _I know_.

I don’t know why the silence is bothering me so much when we only just said goodbye a couple of hours ago. I get annoyed at Nick on occasion for leaving me on read but I don’t wait in anticipation for a text that isn’t actually guaranteed at a specific time.

That funny foreign feeling that I can’t quite put into words has returned, but instead of addressing it like I probably should, I just set aside and promise myself it’s not a big deal.

The imminent meeting with Dave Blade is a big deal, however, and I distract myself by looking up old interviews with him online, scrounging for factoids to impress him.

Ignore my phone, ignore the way I immediately stop whatever I’m doing to check the latest notification that pops up on the screen.

Ignore the way I sigh in defeat when it’s not what I thought it might be.

* * *

If I thought the coffee shop I was at might’ve been just above my income level, the restaurant I meet Dave at is then completely out of my reach.

The Malibu sushi restaurant sits on the edge of the ocean and tricks its patrons into thinking it’s just a casual beachside eatery until they bring out the menus and their wallets start screaming.

Or maybe that’s just me.

I find Dave relaxing in a wicker lounge chair on the corner of the patio, tucked away from the rest of the crowd just enough to give us some semblance of privacy. The sun hasn’t set yet, but patio warmers have already been lit to protect us from the light spring breeze passing through.

“Dream! Great to meet you.” Dave’s forwardness catches me off guard, and I realize I was expecting to meet one of these classic brooding Hollywood director types.

He’s nothing like that.

Decked out in a bright red sweater and jeans that seem to be just a little too big for him, he looks more like a grade school teacher. In fact, he doesn’t even look like he’s old enough to be a teacher. 

He looks like he’s my age. That can’t be possible. A kid prodigy?

“Thanks so much for the invitation, Mr. Blade.”

“Nah, call me Dave.” He waves down a waiter passing by, ordering a water and chef’s special before glancing over at me, “How about you? On me.”

I don’t protest, but have no idea what to order. “Um,” I stutter, trying to glance over the menu that sits on the low-top table between us, “I’ll just get whatever he’s having.”

Dave, apparently, finds this very funny, and promptly bursts into laughter as the waiter leaves. “I guess we’ll both be in for a surprise, I have no idea what I just ordered.”

“What?” For some reason, I find myself also beginning to laugh. “You sounded so certain.”

“No way, I’ve never been here before. I just heard it was where all the famous people took other famous people so it sounded like a good spot.” He shrugs, and I’m once again taken aback by how easy-going he seems to be.

We fall into easy conversation, getting to know one another as peers rather than potential workmates. He’s nothing like the LA-types, but rather than George’s fish-out-of-water vibe from earlier, Dave just seems like he doesn’t want to fit in when he very well could.

“How are things going on _Disc_ anyway?” He asks, taking a large bite of the tuna that’s just been delivered.

“Just started, we had our first table read yesterday.”

“Awesome. I’m really excited to see it, Phil is such a great director.”

I nod in agreement, shoveling some rice into my mouth.

“Anyway,” he continues, leaning back and patting his stomach with some satisfaction. “I wanted to talk to you about my new film, _Territory_.”

I swallow the remains of my food down with some water, sitting up a little straighter and wait attentively.

“I think you’d be perfect. Acting chops aside, I don’t want some mega-star, just someone down-to-earth who can understand the isolation that the main character feels.” There’s a hint of nervousness in his tone, his voice wavering ever so slightly. “It’s a pretty personal story, really. I co-wrote it. I guess… I just want someone whose main goal isn’t to win an Oscar but to tell the story right. Whose head hasn’t reached the clouds just yet.”

It feels almost like he’s trying to sell me on the story as if he needs to convince me. I didn’t realize just how much weight this project would hold to him, and as he continues on trying to justify the role, I know I _want_ it. Not just for the credit, but because it’s something meaningful. It’s an experiment for him, this prodigy of a director who has something to prove.

“It’s not going to be a big blockbuster like _Disc_ , right, it’s not going to make you millions. But I can promise you a story worth telling.” He lapses into silence, and it’s my turn to speak.

“I’m in,” I say with some finality. I haven’t heard the whole concept yet, but his passion is evident and infectious. “Just tell me what you need me to do, anything, and I’m in.”

He nods, hand running over his face, hiding something that looks like relief.

“Great, excellent. I’ll have my assistant send over some materials in the morning.”

With that, we shake hands and he pays the bill.

I pretend to occupy myself by taking out my phone as I wait for my car at the valet, trying to ignore how self-conscious I feel about my little lime green car in comparison to the slick, gleaming models that otherwise occupy the lot. 

But my worries quickly vanish, replaced by an overwhelming feeling of anticipation from the familiar name that pops up.

George: _Today was so fun! I’m busy tomorrow, but what are you doing Friday?_

George: _I think we should do something other than work, like go to a museum or something. I don’t know what there is to do in LA._

I grin to myself – a museum? That’s the best he could come up with?

Quickly, I text back:

Dream: _Museum? Really?_

Dream: _How much sight-seeing have you done?_

Almost immediately, three dots pop up, and I stare, riveted.

George: _They can be fun! Sometimes. Maybe. If by sight-seeing you mean seen the inside of LAX…_

Dream: _Done. I’ll take you sight-seeing on Friday. 1pm?_

George: _It’s a date._

With that, I lock my phone, trying not to look like a maniac by suppressing the smile that has etched itself onto my face as my car rolls up and I head home.

Ignoring, once again, the way our conversation feels like it has more weight to it than the dinner conversation I just had.

I’m just excited to have a new friend, that’s all.


	4. Chapter 4

Before Friday can arrive with all its anticipation, I have two full days ahead filled with table readings and endless more introductions, none of which include George. For some reason, I find it to be a bit of a relief – as if he’s an unneeded distraction.

No, this time I find myself in the same conference room where we first exchanged numbers surrounded by a new cast of people.

“Hey! Dream, I’m Ponk.”

I’m shaking hands with a guy seated next to me who looks to be around my age, and I pick up the slightest hint of an accent.

“South Africa.” He’s grinning, as if he’s just read my mind.

“You must get asked about that a lot.” 

“All the time,” he shrugs indifferently, uncapping the bottle of water on the table in front of him and taking a long sip.

A long silence follows, and I’m trying to think of something to say to make it less awkward, saved only by a tap on my shoulder.

I turn around in my seat and find myself face-to-face with a scrawny-looking kid in oversized glasses and a goofy-looking smile.

“Dream! Great to meet you,” he’s patting my shoulder now as if we’ve been best friends forever and are just having a reunion, and I don’t want to come across as rude by asking him to stop. “I’m Ant, really look forward to getting to work with you.”

I shoot back a sheepish grin, realizing all of a sudden that unlike the other day where I was at the bottom of the food chain, here I’m at the top – I’m the star. 

“Great to meet you too, Ant.”

Ant’s hand slips off my shoulder as he moves on and shakes hands with Ponk, and I’m momentarily annoyed with myself for the negative reaction – the guy was just being nice, after all.

“So, I hear you met the rest of the main cast the other day, how was it?” Ant has turned his attention back to me, and Ponk has also now seemingly taken interest in the question.

“Um,” I stutter, tapping my fingers restlessly on the top of the table as if I’m the bearer of some important secret that I’m about to let them in on. “Yeah, they were all really cool.”

Ant and Ponk just blink in response, waiting for something more. I just don’t know what exactly they want to hear.

“I definitely felt like a fish out of water,” I finally continue, when it’s clear they’re not going to give me any sort of prompt to help me. “Everyone’s so professional. Imane is so articulate, Dan’s like the older brother I’ve always wanted, Tyler’s just full of energy… JJ, I mean, he’s just, like, two thousand levels above me, and Jimmy’s just a god.”

Ant is nodding vigorously, while Ponk seems to be unfazed by my descriptors.

“Did you meet George?” Ant asks, realizing I don’t know what else to say.

“Oh, yeah, we just ran lines yesterday, actually. Really cool guy.” I can’t tell if it’s my vocabulary that’s letting me down or the fact that I don’t actually know any of these people well enough to regale my new castmates with stories about them.

“Nice! Tell him I say hi next time you see him.”

“You’ve already met him?” I don’t try to hide my surprise – the guy only moved here a couple weeks ago, how the hell is it possible he already knows more of the supporting cast than I do? Did I already miss a cast party? Did I not get the Facebook group invitation?

“Yeah, yeah!” Ant’s head is bobbing up and down, “I grabbed lunch with him the other day. My friend Karl introduced us. Do you know Karl?”

Not well enough, apparently.

“I met him briefly the other day but not really.”

“Oh! Karl’s the best, knows everyone.” I try not to interrupt him with a _yeah, I’m starting to gather that much._ “He’s friends with Jimmy though, that’s probably why.”

Now it makes sense. _Of course_ he knows everyone, he’s friends with an A-List celebrity and star of the movie. _Obviously._

“Wow, how’d that happen?”

This time it’s Ponk who speaks up, “Karl used to be Jimmy’s assistant.”

I nearly fall out of my seat, “Don’t tell me you know him too.”

“Oh no, I just Googled him.”

Ant’s eyebrows shoot up curiously, “Did you Google me?”

“No, I have no idea who you are.” Ponk’s tone isn’t mean, but the word choice is enough to cause Ant to back down a little, while I can’t help but let out a light laugh. If Ponk is always this honest, I get the feeling we’ll get along quite well. “But I did Google Dream.”

My laughter subsides, replaced by an inquisitive smile, “Oh? And what does Google have to say about me?”

“That your real name is Clay, you’re eighteen – same age as me, you’re from Florida, you’re on multiple ‘Ones-to-Watch’ lists on IMDb, you had a short-lived flag football career, and you once got a frog stuck in your mouth.”

“What?” Ant asks before I can respond. “You got a… what in your mouth?”

I just shake my head, “I don’t want to talk about it. And all of that is so superficial, I could’ve just told you that if you’d asked.”

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t a serial killer, that’s all.” Ponk smiles. “I wasn’t looking for any sort of dirt on you. But you can tell me something now if you want.”

“No,” I reply with a chuckle.

“Why Dream? Why not Clay?” Ant asks.

“Dream just sounded cooler.” I know everyone wants a bigger backstory than that, and maybe one day I’ll come up with one, but there’s nothing more I can tell them right now. “Clay just sounds boring, Dream sounds like someone you _want_ to talk to, it sounds like it’s meant to be on a movie poster.”

Ponk nods knowingly, while Ant looks a little disappointed. I almost want to apologize.

Our conversation is cut short by Phil, who promptly reigns everyone in to begin the read-through session.

* * *

I’m surprised to find Karl waiting outside the conference room the next day, deep in conversation on his phone as I pass by. I give a short wave, and it seems to take him a second to register who I am before the recognition kicks in.

“Jim-Jimmy, hold on, hold on a sec- Dream!” Karl lifts the phone away ever so slightly, “You reading today?” He doesn’t bother waiting for my response, it’s a stupid question in the first place anyway – of course I am, I’m not about to show up just to sit in on someone else’s read-through. “Catch me after, I gotta ask you something.”

I nod, but he’s already brought the phone back up to his ear and continued on with his previous conversation. I don’t spend too much time wondering what he could possibly have to ask me about, and if anything, I welcome it. It’s been made apparent that he’s the guy to know around here, and I don’t want to be the one sitting on the outside of whatever web he’s been spinning.

As promised, I round the table at the end of the day and make my way over to him.

“Dream!” He sounds delighted, as if we hadn’t just been exchanging lines only moments before. “Thanks for waiting.”

“Sure,” I offer in response. “What’s up?”

“Jimmy and I were thinking of hosting a little cast get-together at his house next weekend. Saturday sounds like it would work well for most people, you in?”

“Yeah! Sounds great, thanks for hosting.”

“Of course, let me know your manager’s number or yours, whatever works, and I’ll pass along the details.”

“Cool,” I take out Darryl’s card and pass it along, feeling giddy all of a sudden as Karl grins and waves goodbye.

I’m part of the main cast, obviously I’d be invited, but I can’t help feeling like I’m finally starting to settle in.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five-stars to me for not proofreading because I'm too tired so don't yell at me about errors.

“I can’t drive.”

George leans on his elbows against a railing, staring down at the ocean.

Santa Monica Pier is buzzing with tourists desperately trying to get their iconic shots and selfies in, but we’ve found our own little corner on the farthest point of the pier where nobody asks us to take pictures of them. It’s quiet in its own special way.

I don’t know why Santa Monica Pier was the first place I wanted to take George, and it occurs to me that it might’ve been better to wait until the sunset to get the full effect, but he seems to like it by the water – very unlike me, who doesn’t really care for it. Or, perhaps, he just enjoys my company as much as I’m enjoying his right now.

“What do you mean you can’t drive?” I scoff, sure he’s joking.

“I can’t drive.” He repeats, holding his head in his hands now, cheeks squishing beneath them.

“You’re in _Los Angeles_ , how the hell are you getting around?”

“Taxis, Ubers,” he says it like it’s obvious, while I’m calculating just how much money he must be spending just to get two streets over in the LA traffic.

“Why not just learn to drive and save the money?”

“I don’t really care that much about driving, I guess. And once you add up the maintenance costs and everything else that comes with owning a car, it’s probably about equal.”

He makes a fair point, but I don’t say as much. “How old are you again?”

“Twenty-one.”

Three years older than me and he still can’t drive.

He quickly catches on to my question, eyes flitting away from the horizon and focusing on me, “Don’t you dare say anything. I know, I know, it’s getting ridiculous…”

I don’t know why, but I burst out laughing, gripping my stomach at the sudden wave of amusement.

“Don’t laugh!” He protests, but I can see him trying to hold back his own laughter.

In the end, we both end up in tears. Me, wheezing, just trying to get a hold of myself, and him with his funny little high-pitched giggles, laugh lines crinkling around his eyes and mouth.

A couple nearby tourists shoot us worried glances but neither of us acknowledges them. We’re not about to compose ourselves for the sake of society at the expense of our fun.

Eventually, we both come down from whatever high we’ve both triggered within each other, and we make our way back to the pier’s main thoroughfare.

“Ok, ready for the Hollywood Walk of Fame?”

“I’m so ready.” George shoots me a grin, face still a little red from the laughter. “Someone was telling me to go to… El Matador? And Griffith Observatory?”

“Oh yeah, Malibu. The cliffs are really cool but it’s a bit of a drive. And Griffith we could do today. We can just pop by the Walk of Fame, say hi to James Dean, then you can say you’ve seen all Hollywood has to offer and we can head up to the observatory. We can do El Matador next weekend or something.”

“Wow, you’re a real tour guide. I don’t know if I have any cash to tip you.”

“I’ll accept alternative forms of payment.” The words are meant to be innocent, but they leave my mouth in a tone that sounds anything but.

Thankfully, George doesn’t seem to mind, hit by another wave of laughter. “Alright, I’ll keep that in mind.”

And I’m sure it’s just in my imagination, or just him playing along -- the way his suggestive tone just then seems to mimic my own.

It hits me again, in the same way it hit me post-coffee shop meeting, how easily we seem to understand each other. How well we seem to get along despite such little time spent together.

“My car is in the parking lot down there, I can drive us.” I point to a lot below the pier, already spotting the bright lime green sheen, and can’t help but to tease him a little, “Let me be your _Uber_ today.”

“What’s your rate?”

“Out of your range, but I’ll give you a discount for today only.”

“Yeah, I already knew you were out of my range.”

“What?” Is all I can reply with, smiling but a little lost in the smirk that’s playing at the corner of George’s lips while I try to look away, focus on walking straight.

“Hey, are you going to Karl and Jimmy’s get-together next weekend?” The way he changes the subject isn’t smooth at all, but he’s plastered on a poker face so I can’t quite tell what’s going through his mind.

“Yeah, are you?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“What’s holding you back?” I suppose I assumed he’d be going, and I try to ignore the way I feel a little deflated at the possibility that he might not be. I know much of the cast now, and yet I realize I was banking on him to be there to not feel alone.

“I’m just not a big fan of large gatherings.”

“But it’s not even that big, it’s just the cast.”

“With Karl and Jimmy it’s never _just_ a small group, it always winds up with three times the amount of people they meant to invite.”

I don’t get to ask how he knows this, as we arrive at my car and George lets out an audible cackle of laughter, stopping a few feet away.

“Why is your car colored so weirdly?”

“Because I like green.” I go on the defensive, pouting a little that he would offend my prized possession like this.

“Green?”

“Yeah? It’s my favorite color. It looks cool.” I reply, dumbly.

“No, no -- sorry. I’m colorblind, it just looks funny to me.”

I don’t know what to do with this new information, I don’t even know if I’ve met anyone else who’s colorblind. “How are you colorblind?” It’s a stupid question, I’m sure.

“I just can’t see certain colors, greens for instance.” He shrugs, opening the passenger door to get in as I get into the driver’s seat.

I wait until we’re in traffic and headed across town to pick up the conversation again, still curious.

“So, is it just green?”

“No, reds too.”

“I can’t believe you can’t see green.” My favorite color, and he can’t even see it. What are the chances? “What does my car look like to you then?”

He laughs quietly, as if in on a secret with only himself – and really, he is. “A dull yellow, I guess?”

“A dull yellow? Oh gross.”

He just snorts in response, and I realize he has nothing to compare my lime green car to if greens and yellows look the same to him.

“Don’t pity me, please.” He says after a moment of silence, and he sounds genuinely worried. I suppose I was pitying him, but it’s hard not to.

“The only thing I’m pitying here is my car, I can’t believe it looks _yellow_ to you.” I wrinkle my nose in disgust, “After I spent so much money to get this color and then you come along and tell me you can’t even see it!”

I don’t know if it’s enough to ease his worry, but I can see him shake his head with a small smile from the corner of my eye and decide it’s enough for now. I’ll drop the subject – at least for a little while.

* * *

“So, what would you rate my driving today?” I ask, getting out of the car after managing to find an open spot a couple blocks away from Hollywood Boulevard. 

“Hmm,” he ponders, meeting me on the sidewalk as we begin walking, “Solid four out of five stars.”

“Oh? Why not five out of five?” 

“You didn’t have any free mints.”

This time, it’s my turn to let out a small snort, although it’s more of a half snort, other half something bordering a wheeze. “If I have them ready for you next time does that guarantee me a five out of five?”

He ponders some more, leaving me waiting in anticipation. “Maybe.”

“Maybe!?” I want to sound angry but instead it comes out more like a laugh. “What else do I have to do? I just want that five out of five from George Davidson, my top customer!”

He’s clearly enjoying himself here, having the upper-hand, and I’m just fine with playing along. “I’ll have to think about it and get back to you.”

“You’re already getting a free ride _and_ you’re not paying me my tour guide tip,” I point out teasingly, “You’re not in a position to bargain here.”

“Doesn’t matter, I know you want that five-star rating and I’m not up for trading it in exchange for a tour guide tip.” He’s a couple of steps behind me now, but when I look back I receive a mocking grin, probably hatching some masterplan.

“Actually, I thought of a way you can pay me back for being your tour guide.” I slow my pace slightly so he can catch up.

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, go to the cast thing next weekend.”

He laughs, but not in a _ha-ha that’s so funny! _way but in a _ha-ha no_ way.__

__I continue to press him when he doesn’t respond, “It’ll be fun! If it gets too crazy we’ll leave. I mean,” I’m speaking quickly, trying to convince him, “I’ll leave with you. I’ll even drive you. Where do you live? I’ll pick you up. We can just go for a bit, say hi to everyone and then I’ll bring you back home.”_ _

__He’s looking at me a little strangely, and I realize that maybe I’m pushing this a little too much. But instead of telling me to stop, he just asks, “Why do you want me to go so much?”_ _

__I don’t have a good response to this because I’m not sure myself, and I can feel myself getting a little red – embarrassment? Something else? I stare forward, trying to avoid his gaze. And I choose honesty. “I just feel comfortable around you, I guess. More than the rest of the cast. To be fair, I want to get to know everyone, but it just feels like it’d be easier with you around.”_ _

__If my honesty makes him uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it, just nods as if he understands. “Ok… yeah, ok, I’ll go.” He’s biting his lip, but it doesn’t look like it’s nervousness._ _

__“Yeah?”_ _

__“Yeah,” he nods to confirm, “But then I don’t owe you anything.”_ _

__“Well, you’ll owe me for the free rides.”_ _

__“Nope, it’ll cancel all my debt.”_ _

__I don’t argue further, don’t want to push my luck._ _

__Instead, our focus shifts to debating which celebrities actually deserve to have a star on the Walk of Fame as we reach the boulevard. I pull out my phone to Google a few names we don’t recognize while George snaps a couple of awkwardly-angled selfies to send to his mother._ _

__We mingle for no more than a few minutes, avoiding the packed area that leads to the Chinese Theater, opting to head back to the car and drive up to Griffith Observatory._ _

__“That’s a real tourist trap,” George says with a degree of disappointment once we’re back on the road. “It took longer just to walk there than to see the sights.”_ _

__“Hey, don’t blame me – I just said I was going to show you around, not show you _fun_.”_ _

__“Don’t make me downgrade you to three-stars,” he warns, but it’s quickly followed by laughter._ _

__“Oh please!” I sigh dramatically, eyes focused on the road as we wind up towards the observatory, “Not my four-stars!”_ _

__I can hear George’s breath audibly hitch as we reach the top parking lot, and at first I think it’s in response to me until he says, “Wow. Oh, no, I think this is going to save your rating.”_ _

__I manage to glance over and follow the direction of his gaze, spotting the barely visible LA skyline peeking out in the distance as I park the car. “Just wait and see.”_ _

__He’s out of the car faster than I can shut the engine off, and I have to pick up a bit of a sprint to catch up to him, already halfway to the observatory by the time I’ve gotten myself together._ _

__George breezes by the pendulum and exhibits, heading straight for the upper terrace. I follow closely behind but keep a bit of distance between myself and the terrace’s barrier while he leans over the edge to get a better look._ _

__“Have you been here before?” He asks without looking back at me._ _

__“Once before with my roommate, just to check it out.”_ _

__He nods, taking his phone out to snap a couple of photos._ _

__“Here, let me take a picture of you for your mom.”_ _

__George obliges, and I take his phone while he gives the camera a goofy-looking smile with his arms spread wide._ _

__“Thanks,” he says as I hand the phone back, “You want one?”_ _

__“No, I’m fine.” I take a couple of steps back again, letting him enjoy the view._ _

__He realizes I’m still standing a safe distance away from the edge after a couple more minutes and gives me a quizzical look, “What? Are you afraid of heights?”_ _

__Yes. “No.”_ _

__His eyebrow raises, doubting me. “So then come join me.”_ _

__“No, I’m fine. This is a really good spot. There’s some nice wind coming in.”_ _

__The wind, in fact, is whipping us from all sides, but whatever._ _

__“You’re afraid of heights,” he says, a little shocked._ _

__This time I don’t deny it, he’s already seen through the lie and it’s not like I’m giving him any reason not to doubt me. “Fear of heights is perfectly rational and is just self-preservation.”_ _

__I can tell he’s trying not to laugh, but a giggle still manages to escape from his mouth while his hand flies up to stop himself._ _

__“If I can’t pity you for your colorblindness then you can’t laugh at my fear of heights!”_ _

__This seems to bring him back down, and he nods, although he’s still smirking more than I’d like. “Fine, that’s true, very true.”_ _

__“Thank you.”_ _

__We wind our way around the rest of the observatory, with me pretending to explain the exhibits scattered around the floors by supplying very false anecdotes while George interrupts with unrelated questions, pretending to be a five-year-old on a school trip._ _

__I’ve doubled over in laughter at least ten times when we’ve finally finished and reach the pendulum at the entrance again, and it’s clear from the way he’s having trouble catching his breath he’s had just as much of a good time as I have._ _

__“Where do you live? I can drive you home.”_ _

__George shakes his head, pulling his phone out of his pocket and swiping through some apps. “Alhambra. But don’t worry about it, I can get an Uber from here.”_ _

__“I mean, I’m picking you up next weekend anyway, I can drop you off now, too.” Alhambra really isn’t near me and driving through LA traffic on a Friday late afternoon doesn’t sound very exciting, but I don’t say that._ _

__“Thanks,” he pauses, seeming to weigh his options. “It’s really ok, you’ve already done too much today. I’ll text you my address for next weekend though.”_ _

__He gives me one of his warm smiles that I’m getting all too used to, the one that I can’t help but smile back, the one that makes me feel like I don’t want the day to end just yet even though I know we both have other places to be._ _

__“Text me anytime,” I say, with a little much hope._ _

__“Maybe I will.” He knows exactly what he’s doing. I know he knows. I just don’t know why he’s doing it._ _

__“You and _maybe_. Maybe you’ll give me five stars next time, maybe you’ll text me.” I mean for it to sound teasing, but it ends up sounding more like a whine._ _

__He just gives me a knowing look, the same one that he had when he was explaining his colorblindness in the car, the one that’s trading secrets with only himself. It’s driving me mad. We’re not at the point where I can push him to reveal himself to me, but I desperately want to be._ _

__I want to understand him._ _

__“Maybe I just like the way you get riled up so easily.”_ _

__I’m left gawking as his Uber pulls up, left to wonder what the hell he’s playing at._ _


End file.
